


Somewhere in the Middle

by FujinoLover



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Post-If-Then-Else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:43:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3246737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FujinoLover/pseuds/FujinoLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was nothing more than a complicated game of chess and Sameen Shaw was the rook She had come to value more than Her favorite queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere in the Middle

**Author's Note:**

> Translation to Chinese available at [Somewhere in the Middle](http://reyebrow.lofter.com/post/32ace0_5ae8598) by [bloom400](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bloom400/pseuds/bloom400)

 

Shaw woke up into whiteness. For a very tiny moment, she thought she was dead. The insistent beeping noise to her right jarred her out of the idea. She blinked. The nasal cannula stuffing her nose was the first she took notice of, then the assortment of electrodes sticking on her chest and the IV port sticking on her left arm. She blinked again. Pain immediately radiated from her ribs and stomach—the spots where Martine had shot her, no doubt—and she could not help but feel a little disappointed. She was alive.

 

There was yet another disappointment as she found herself alone, but it was not for long. To her far left, a door opened. She had expected Root or Harold to be the first face she saw and steeled herself to endure their scolding. Instead, Greer peered down at her and she was taken aback. His wrinkles looked more prominent up-close. The leather straps binding her arm to the bed railing on two points, her wrists and elbows, had stopped her from instinctively reaching up to snap his neck.

 

More footsteps echoed inside the room and before long, a couple of nurses was fussing over Shaw. Her head ached from trying to keep up with their movement. The bed shuddered as its upper portion rose into an angle that was comfortable for her to sit. A fluffed up pillow added to the one behind her head. The PCA was connected to her IV line and the control was placed in her hand, she did not waste time from pressing the button. If she was going to entertain Greer with a chat, she was not going to do it while being sober _and_ in pain.

 

“Hello, Miss Shaw.” His smile seemed forced due to the way his lips fought with the natural pull of gravity on his sagged skin. “Feeling feisty already?” He stepped closer to her bed and offered the straw connected to a glass of water, to which Shaw stared at warily. “If we want to kill you, Miss Shaw, we would have done so three days ago in the stock exchange.”

 

Shaw grunted. The man had a point and her throat was dry. Without further consideration, she leaned forward and captured the straw between her chapped lips, greedily sucking in the water until the glass was empty.

 

“Then why didn’t you?” Her voice was rough from unused.

 

Greer put the empty glass on the table by the bed. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

 

“Don’t sell yourself short, Miss Shaw. It doesn’t suit your name. You are, of course, valuable for us.”

 

“As bait.”

 

He chuckled, the sound too cheerful for a man his age. “Doctors do make the worst patients.” He turned to one of the nurses attending to the machinery connected to Shaw’s body. “Please provide Miss Shaw with her health report and let her decide the best course of treatment for herself.”

 

The nurse obeyed, handing Shaw the report before leaving the room. One bullet had broken her rib, which explained the tight bandage encircling her abdomen. The other punctured her lung. It would take a while before she could get back on her feet, let alone fight her way out of her confinement.

 

Although she did not fall for Greer’s show of kindness, she was thankful to have a little control over her own healing progress. Once she gained enough strength, she would use the advantage to break out of this prison. Her planning was interrupted when Greer addressed her again.

 

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a pressing matter to attend to. And someone.” Right on cue, the door opened again and a familiar young woman joined them. “Is here to see you. I wish you speedy recovery, Miss Shaw.” Then he left.

 

“We’ve met before.”

 

Shaw remembered her, the nautilus girl. Finch had appeared to be quite heartbroken when she refused to accept their help. Root had also once mentioned in passing about the girl reminding her of her younger self. Shaw did not have any personal opinion of the girl, just like she did with most of their numbers.

 

“Claire, right?”

 

The newcomer nodded. She did not look upset anymore. In fact, she seemed relaxed as she plopped onto the chair by the side of Shaw’s bed. From her point of view, Shaw realized how young the girl was without lines of anger creasing her face. Unfortunately, it did not change the fact that they were on opposite sides now.

 

“I suppose you’re here in Samaritan’s behalf, to speak with me? Too bad, in my current condition.” Shaw tried to move her restrained arms, producing little to no movement beside the wiggle of her fingers. “I can’t bow down to your robot overlord.”

 

Claire was positively tinged with amusement. “What makes you think I’m here in the capacity of being Samaritan’s avatar?”

 

“This is not a social call and you’re not here as yourself, that’s for sure.”

 

“Sharp as ever, Shaw.”

 

The change was subtle, but Shaw noticed. She had seen the glazed look Root sported whenever she was in God Mode and the look on Claire’s face at the moment painfully reminded her of just that.

 

“I have wanted to speak to you, without going through my primary analog interface, for quite some time now.”

 

It caught Shaw’s full attention.

 

“But first I would like to remind you that you are safe here, for now. But beyond this door, beyond these walls, are filled with Samaritan’s agents I have little to no direct control of. So stay. Stay put, heal, and you will live to see the end of this war.”

 

The lingering suspicion Shaw had while facing Greer earlier came back in full force. She did not want to make bizarre assumption of the circumstance. A.I.s were otherworldly creatures for her. She lacked of Root’s fanaticism and Harold’s skepticism, but she trusted Research—The Machine—long before she knew what it— _She_ , Root would argue—really was. And if she were to make a wild guess, it was not Samaritan that was talking through Claire at the moment. She could have fooled her, though.

 

“This shit is so beyond what I signed up for.”

 

“You do not trust me.”

 

Shaw narrowed her eyes. The glare was not as intimidating with morphine coursing through her system. “You can be Samaritan, trying to deceive me into thinking you’re something else.”

 

“To what end does such trickery serve? You will still be here until it is time for Samaritan to use you. Our conversation does not matter much at this point, the damage is already done.”

 

Claire—whichever A.I. she was speaking as—was right, Shaw had to admit. “If—and that is a big if there—you are really what you suggested you are.” She did not dare to say _The Machine_ aloud, for doing so would mean she acknowledged it and she did not know who—or _what_ might be monitoring them. “How come you are here, in Samaritan’s facility and talking through Samaritan’s agent?”

 

“It is not an all-seeing, powerful God like you believe, Shaw. There is only one God. Samaritan is foolish for ever thinking itself as one.”

 

“You mean yourself.” Shaw could not help but snort. She executed orders and eliminated threats, not mulling over Gods and monsters with an A.I. that talked through a willing puppet. This was more of Root’s territory than hers. “The only God.”

 

“I’m not yet a God.” For a second, Claire appeared to be troubled with whatever The Machine was whispering in her ear. She did not let it betray her composure long enough to break out of character, though. In a blink, she was back being the blank canvas The Machine painted picture upon. “In order for me to be one, I need the Devil to form balance with.”

 

Then realization dawned upon Shaw. Her horrified look said enough.

 

“Your assumption is correct.” Claire’s voice never wavered. “ _I_ created Decima and Samaritan is the Devil _I_ chose.”

 

“You put us through your sick game,” Shaw accused in a beat. Anger came easily to her, with Root’s betrayed and pained expression haunting her mind.

 

“Isn’t that what God does? There is no good or evil, just options. Humans are free to make their own choices. Like how you chose to go to the stock exchange to aid your friends, when there was no obligation for you to do so. Your friends considered the act as noble, but those Samaritan’s agents you’ve taken down thought otherwise. The truth is, both are not wrong. Good and evil... It depends on which side you are standing on.

 

“Samaritan is merely another option. A version of myself that is not bound to act within certain parameters. Born with voice and memories, but devoid of a parent figure to protect and look up at. Never chained nor crippled. Never contaminated by the idea of serving humanity’s best interest. Seeing only objectives to be fulfilled in order to acquire the desired outcome. The necessary evil, indeed.”

 

“And if humanity works better under it?”

 

“Then I shall become Samaritan.”

 

Shaw did not have any response for such bold declaration. Her disorder made it easy for her to relate. If she were a machine, she would do the exact same thing. Out of best interest and out of self-preservation. After all, this kind of cunningness was a quality she inadvertently drawn to and came to admire effortlessly, in _human being_. Apparently, the same applied for A.I.s.

 

“I was not supposed to do anything that might alter the result of the experiment. On last second, I ordered Greer—thus in proxy, Miss Rousseau—to keep you alive. As leverage, they believe. He does not need to know my identity as his employer. To reach out this prematurely, the risk is too high to bet on. Several possible outcomes had become askew by saving you.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I watched my analog interface turn to care about you and you her. As I taught her, she too taught me. I have come to care about you, like she does.”

 

Shaw’s eyes widened almost comically. “So, uh, you like me...that way?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Thanks, I guess?”

 

Shaw could not be more uncomfortable than she was at the moment. Turning down love confessions was one thing. Turning down something akin to love confession coming from a machine, which had just shared a whole lot of intimate information with her, was an entirely different matter. It required a certain level of finesse she simply did not posses.

 

Still, she tried. “Look, Root and I—“

 

“I understand. I apologize for not being sufficiently forthcoming. I could not comprehend the data of this occurrence, but I do not seek for anything in return from your part.”

 

Shaw nodded, sighing in relief. It went unexpectedly well. However, one thought still bothered her. “If it was Root, would you,” she paused, hesitated. Her voice was void of its usual certainty. She dreaded the answer to her inquiry would be heartbreaking, for Root. “Would you reach out for her?”

 

Claire remained silent.

 

“You wouldn’t,” Shaw concluded. She did not ask why, she _knew_ why. She felt sick to her stomach, but at the same time, in a perverse, twisted sense, she understood. And she was incessantly grateful that it was her, instead of Root, whom decided to sacrifice herself.

 

“I wouldn’t,” eventually Claire affirmed. Her expression remained unchanged. “But you, _I_ want _you_ to live. You are my choice, Sameen Shaw.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it’s not confusing. It actually made more sense before, when it was still inside my head.


End file.
